< previous page page_351 next page >

Page 351
around behind her impassive face. Was it better for Ian? Worse? If many real challenges for the king's champion were unanswered, it would be far worse. Ian would have no rest at all. Alinor swallowed nervously. In the shelter of her heavy cloak, her hands twisted together. Ela's whine in her left ear was a meaningless cacophony, but she was glad to turn her head toward it, glad that her blank, blind eyes would give no satisfaction to the monster who sat on her other side.

To Ian, the announcement meant nothing beyond a few more moments to sit still. He had reached the stage of exhaustion where his mind was not functioning beyond the recognition of his own call to action and the performance of acts so drilled into him over the years that they were mechanical. He saw Salisbury and Pembroke hurry toward each other, the herald who had charge of calling the combatants join them. He did not wonder what they were about. He simply did not think at all. When the sun's glare pierced through the eyeslit of his helmet, he merely turned his head a little to block out the ray. He did not realize that only when the sun was very low in the west, would it strike at that angle.
The trumpets blew again. The herald began to call a challenge aloud. Suddenly, the primitive instinct of self-preservation pierced the fog in Ian's brain. He had recognized the names of the challengers. The challenge itself was incredible! Fulk de Cantelu and Henry of Cornhill were joint challengers, demanding that the king make good his promise to them, of which King John claimed to be absolved by the Lady Alinor's marriage. If Lady Alinor was not free, they claimed an equivalent heiress must be offered in her place. Even Ian heard the roar from the loges. He was awake now, unmercifully aware of the grinding pain in his left knee and left arm, the miserable ache of his whole abused body. He was aware of a dry mouth, of laboring

 
< previous page page_351 next page >